Scampi: Takin’ it easy on a Sunday!
Peter: It isn’t Sunday.
Scampi: Who cares?
Peter: I do.
Scampi: Why? It doesn’t matter.
Peter: In that case, why did you say that?
Scampi: It’s just something I wanted to say. It doesn’t matter what day it is.
Peter: If it doesn’t matter what day it is, then I don’t see why you had to mention the day. That it isn’t.
Peter: Lower your voice.
Scampi: Come on. It can be whatever day we want.
Peter: That is incorrect.
Scampi: No, it isn’t.
Peter: It is.
Scampi: Nope. Isn’t.
Peter: It has to be the day that it is.
Scampi: Oh really?
Scampi: Interesting. So, what day is it?
Peter: I –
Scampi: Ha! Foiled again!
Scampi: I like to think that we’re sitting on some lawn chairs. You know. On the porch, on the lawn. Howsoever it may be.
Peter: Right now?
Scampi: Right now. Sitting in our Muskoka chairs, our Adirondack chairs. The low buzz of insects.
Peter: What sort of insects?
Scampi: Oh, Mr Inquisitive!
Peter: [offended] I was taking a polite interest.
Scampi: That’ll be the day.
Scampi: We’re sitting in the sun. And the shade. I mean, we’re not being assaulted by the sun, but it’s sunny out. What do you think of that?
Peter: I hope I am wearing a hat.
Scampi: Yes, yes. It’s all taken care of.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: You’re reading the paper. No, I’m reading the paper. I’m reading all the weird bits aloud. To you. It’s starting to get on your nerves.
Scampi: You see what I’m saying?
Peter: Suburban life has its trials and tribulations.
Peter: Excuse me?
Scampi: You were there with me! That’s what I’m saying.
Scampi: With the paper. And the reading and the sun and shade. And the insects.
Peter: I was not. I was here.
Scampi: But you thought you were there.
Scampi: Oh, for a moment.
Scampi: How many constellations do you know?
Scampi: No, no. Like, how many can you tell what they are?
Scampi: Like what?
Peter: That’s the Big Dipper.
Scampi: In Ireland they called it The Plough.
Scampi: It’s true.
Peter: Did I say that I disbelieved you?
Scampi: You implied it.
Peter: In what way?
Scampi: With your tone.
Peter: A simple misinterpretation of my tone on your behalf, I assure you.
Scampi: Oh, right.
Peter: Don’t antagonise me.
Scampi: I wasn’t.
Scampi: The plow. Furrows and furlongs. What else?
Peter: I am not an expert on farming.
Scampi: What about astronomy?
Peter: There is the lure of celestial bodies, to be sure.
Scampi: Yes. Like Tycho Brahe.
Peter: What about him?
Scampi: The Swedish astronomer with the golden nose. (Or Danish.)
Peter: I am aware of this personage.
Scampi: I know. I thought we were talking about astronomy.
Scampi: What else do you know about him?
Peter: Other than his gilt prosthetic proboscis?
Scampi: Uh huh.
Peter: He worked with Kepler.
Scampi: In Prague.
Peter: I believe so.
Scampi: I can just see it.
Peter: With Kepler, he developed the first three laws of planetary motion.
Scampi: Of course!
Scampi: The heavens!
Peter: I’m not sure what you mean.
Scampi: They probably looked up a lot and said things like, “the heavens”.
Peter: Uh. Possibly.
Scampi: Oh sorry.
Scampi: I thought that was your hand.
Scampi: Do you feel smaller?
Peter: Than what?
Scampi: Looking at the stars?
Scampi: You don’t?
Peter: Smaller than a star?
Scampi: Smaller than yourself.
Peter: That is impossible.
Scampi: Is not.
Scampi: I mean like, smaller than you think of yourself being. This is a commonly understood concept.
Peter: That is no defence of its veracity, methinks.
Scampi: Oh, look: a shooting star.
Peter: I did not see it.
Scampi: I didn’t see it either.
Scampi: I wanted to say that, though.
Peter: I see.
Scampi: Anyway, there might’ve been one.
Peter: I suppose.
Scampi: Of course there could have. It has to be possible.
Peter: That a shooting star could exist?
Scampi: We inhabit a garden of possibilities, Peter.
Peter: You are fond of repeating this.
Scampi: It’s true.
Scampi: I put the paper down on the grass. We are looking out at that gorgeous sunset.
Peter: We are lost out here.
Scampi: With the stars.